Friction
by Ta'er Sagheer
Summary: The Art of Making Friends *and Not Hating Them* A series of unrelated oneshots centering around House and Alvie. NC17
1. One

**A/N**: _This is the first installment of a series of unrelated oneshots involving House and Alvie, because the fandom could really use some more. Some might have slashy undertones, depending on how you look at them. A huge thank you to **misdreya** , for all her help and support. Also, I apologize if Alvie sounds strange. I'm still trying to find my Alvie-voice._

* * *

It was Thursday morning, three A.M., House judged from the block of light that the window spilled onto the floor, separating his bed from Alvie's. There was enough light from the window in order for House to see that, laying on his stomach with his neck bent at an awkward angle, Alvie was asleep. However, just to be sure, he waited, listening to the soft, even breathing.

Satisfied, he shifted around until he was comfortable, and pulled the sheet up to his chest, sliding his hand down to the front of his sweat pants. As he wrapped his fingers around his clothed cock, he winced. He gently squeezed the growing erection, grunting in the back of his throat.

Slowly, quietly, he pushed his pants and underwear down halfway, watching with intense eyes as the outline of his cock twitched from under the sheet. He licked his hand and shut his eyes. Reaching under the sheet again, he smeared his saliva over the tip.

He thought of the last woman he had had sex with, tried to recall the swell of her breasts, or the way her perfect, heart shaped ass looked from behind as she squatted over him, guiding him into her.

His breath hitched in his throat, somewhere between a groan and a sigh. He opened his eyes and glanced over at Alvie, who was still fast asleep, his back to him.

Images of Cuddy flooded his mind, images of her and Thirteen in cheap lingerie, on top of his piano, enthusiastically moaning and kissing. House smirked, his face warm. In his fantasies, no one was off limits.

Behind closed lids, he watched Cuddy break the kiss with Thirteen and turn to him suddenly, inviting him to join. Thirteen grinned seductively, leaning in to kiss Cuddy's neck, sliding a hand up her leg.

When he came, picturing both women knelt in front of them with lipstick smeared on their faces as well as his cock, his eyes rolled back into his head. He collapsed into the bed, his breathing heavy and erratic, and reached for a tissue. The mess was gone and his pants were pulled up quickly enough, and he was left staring at the ceiling as his breathing calmed, fingers laced behind his head.

He almost felt himself drifting off to sleep, when he suddenly heard Alvie say, "Oh hell no. Did you just bust a nut?"

House paused, unsure of what to say. He couldn't help but grin wickedly. "Maybe."

Alvie rolled over quickly, nearly tearing his blanket and sheet off the bed.

"That's sick! I don't wanna hear that, man."

"Sorry," House said, feigning embarrassment. "Thought you were asleep."

"I_ was_ asleep!" he groaned in disgust. "Look, from now on," he waved his hand in a circle, "you do that stuff in the bathroom like everybody else, kay?"

"But this way's more fun."

Alvie stared at him. "Yo, that's messed up."

Hastily gathering up his sheets and blankets, Alvie began rolling over, trying to form a barricade between him and House.

"Nu uh. Homie don't play that. My last roomy couldn't stand me but at least he didn't spank the monkey when he was layin' two feet from me. I'll tell 'em I want a new room mate, that's what. A lo loco bellaca, man. Ridiculous!"

House snorted quietly; whenever Alvie got riled up, his sentences all fused into one long one. It never failed.

"You are one sick puppy, you know that? Can't believe you. There are plenty of times when _I _wanna rub one out, but do I? No! I don't! Cuz you're right there!"

"Hey, don't let me stop you."

That stopped the complaints dead in their tracks.

"What? You serious?"

"Only fair. Just try not to think of me while you're doing it."

There was another long silence, until he heard the shift of blankets from the other bed, then a soft, frustrated grunt. "That ain't right. There's somethin' wrong with you."

"Oh, you're so repressed," House said, rolling his eyes.

Alvie responded by pulling his blanket over his head.

A few seconds later, he started to whisper what sounded to House like lyrics. From the clips he could catch, House determined they were nothing short of a treatise on how messed up his roommate was.

Eventually, the whispers drifted off. House lay awake for a long while, listening to Alvie snore next to him, a grin on his face.


	2. Two

After an hour of pretending to sleep, Alvie was starting to lose his mind. Pretending was not an easy thing to do. Especially when the guy laying on the other side of the room was pretending, too. The quiet felt forced and unnatural; even after an hour, neither man's breathing softened and evened out, neither tossed and turned or even snored.

Slowly, carefully, Alvie lifted his head and squinted through the shadows at House. A whole minute passed, in which House, lying on top of the bedspread with his arms folded behind his head, did not move.

Alvie paused, listening to his own heartbeat. The longer the awkward, stifling silence lasted, the harder it would be to break it-and he had every intention of breaking it.

"So that's it?" he said, letting the words hang in the stale air of the small room.

House was still.

Alvie frowned, rolling onto his side. "I know you're not asleep."

House shifted, the sheets rustling beneath him. He brought his hands out from behind his head and cracked his knuckles, and then replaced them, wriggling around to get comfortable again.

"You're just gonna start doing what they tell you?"

House sighed. "That's the idea, Alvie."

"Well, I don't like it," Alvie answered quickly.

"You think I do?" House snapped, head lifting slightly. Alvie couldn't see in the dark very well, but he was sure House was scowling. "I'm just playing along so I can get out of here."

Alvie propped himself up with his elbow. "What do you mean?"

"Nolan won't sign for my release."

Alvie felt his stomach churn in anxiety, but it wasn't dread or even sadness. If he hadn't known any better, he could have sworn it was excitement. "Can he even do that?"

"Apparently. I can leave, but without signed consent, I can't go back to practicing medicine."

"Oh," Alvie said quietly, smoothing a hand over his covers. "Look on the bright side, this place isn't so bad."

"Maybe to you."

"Well… at least you're making friends," Alvie tried.

"I didn't come here to make friends," House replied coldly. "I came here to get clean."

There was a stabbing pain in Alvie's stomach, something he recognized as betrayal, but he only allowed himself a few seconds to experience it before he thought of something. He shot up out of bed and folded his legs Indian style.

"You know what? You were right."

"About what?" House asked. He sounded indifferent, but Alvie hoped to change that.

"They do treat us like kids. But we're not. Yeah, a few of us are a little crazy, but we're not stupid. You know why they treat us like kids? 'Cause nobody ever stands up to 'em. But you did! You stood up to 'em, and look what happened."

"I got lucky."

"But you got Nolan to fork over the ping pong paddles like it was no big deal!"

"I was _pushing_. Nolan pushed back, just not in the way I was expecting."

A little voice in the back of Alvie's head told him that enough was enough, and that riling his roommate up would only end badly, but he couldn't stop himself. He felt horribly selfish; the idea of losing the only roommate he'd ever really connected with scared him, which was why he said, "I thought we were friends."

House sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed with such force, even with having to manually move his bad leg, that Alvie flinched and immediately shut up.

"What do you think this is, a game?" House asked, his voice harsh. "You think you're here to have fun? You're here because the public deems you a danger to yourself and society. You're here because you refuse to take your medication. I'm here because I thought I could beat the system. I can't beat the system, Alvie, and neither can you, so stop trying."

Columns of light from the window illuminated across House's face, and Alvie watched as the irritation was quickly replaced by a look of apology. He watched in silence as House laid a hand on his thigh and hung his head, staring intently at the floor.

"You want out? Take your medicine, play your cards right, do what they tell you," he said softly, lying back onto the bed. He rolled over so that his back was facing Alvie.

"I don't not want out..." Alvie said quietly, fidgeting with a loose string from his bed sheet. "I just…" _don't want you to leave_, he finished inside his head. "You're the first real friend I've had in a long time."

For a long time, he stared at the back of his friends head, trying to recognize and process each emotion as it assaulted his system. Sadness, anxiety, fear, anger, embarrassment; finally, completely worn out, he settled back into his bed and stared up at the ceiling.

House said what he said because of the pain, Alvie had caught onto that quickly, but it never made the blows any easier to handle. He wished he could have met House before Mayfield, before the infarction. He wondered, for a brief moment, if House had only used him to get information and access to things, to show him the ropes, and he had just been too dumb to catch on.

It wasn't always as difficult as it was then thinking; or as stressful. He felt a strong feeling of insecurity and uncertainty build up within him; what if House was right? Maybe he ought to be taking his medication again. Maybe some people could function on the outside with medication, but not all people.

As House's snores gradually filled their shared room, Alvie noticed that pretending to sleep suddenly became much easier.


End file.
